


bare open your soul; i know you

by oaseas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Keith-Centric but a Lance/Keith Whump, M/M, Mentions of the team - Freeform, Out of order storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oaseas/pseuds/oaseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is ever easy with them, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.</p><hr/><p>Or, Lance loses his memory sometime before the end of Season One and he forgets a lot of things. The most important, perhaps, being Keith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bare open your soul; i know you

_Everything should be just fine. Lance should be ok._

Coran’s words of comfort aren’t doing much to ease Keith’s frayed nerves, but he repeats them to himself in silence nonetheless. Hunk shifts beside him, tension in his every line and curve. In front of them Lance’s med-pod beeps quietly, the occasional hiss indicating the release of air into the castle. Keith catches Allura glance down at her watch. Her lips twist before she looks up again and Keith knows any minute now the pod will slide open. 

He isn’t let down. The familiar click of the latch and the smooth slide of mechanics greet them within moments. Lance stumbles forward, eyes shut, limbs weak. Keith reaches for him and catches Lance just as his posture slumps. Immediately their friends gather around them and Shiro presses his hand gently against Lance’s back. Lance’s eyes flutter open, blue and murky and unfocused.

 _Everything should be just fine,_ Coran had said. Keith watches Lance take them in with confused eyes and barely concealed panic. His stomach drops and he knows. He just knows. Lance tugs himself out of Keith's grip sharply, an ugly grimace falling across his face. Keith lets him go. Lance is weary. The bone deep exhaustion is visible in the way he holds himself. _Lance should be ok._

“What's going on? Hunk? Why am I so tired? _Fuck._ ”

A sense of foreboding swells deep in Keith's gut, churning his stomach inside out. He takes a hesitant step forward and Lance takes one back. Instinctively. Like he hasn't done in months. 

_Lance should be ok. Everything should be just fine._

“And why the _hell_ were you _cradling_ me?”

Well, Keith thinks hysterically in the silence that ensues. At least Lance isn't denying it this time.

✮

Nothing has ever been easy for them. Not talking or working together. Even sitting in mutual silence is hard and almost constantly ends in yelled arguments. Shiro will call Keith dramatic if Keith ever expresses the sentiment, and tell him that they’re simply not trying hard enough. Keith disagrees. Now, as he struggles to detangle himself from a bunch of wires connecting from the castle to Red’s paw, Lance’s mocking laughter grating him to the very core, Keith feels vindictive. He mightn’t be trying, sure, but what use is making an effort on someone who clearly doesn’t return the sentiment? If Lance is so hellbent on making Keith’s life a living hell, then he can go ahead. Keith’s not petty enough to be swept up in the same irrationality.

“Oh, this is too good,” Lance wheezes, and from Keith’s awkward position he can’t see much other than worn sneakers. His neck is bent at an awkward angle, the wires holding his right leg higher than his arms, thus leaving him dangling upside down. “M-my,” Lance hiccups around laughter, “how the mighty have fallen.” 

Keith grits his teeth and wiggles, which, upon dropping a few inches, is possibly a bad idea. Judging from the startled, choked noise which promptly cuts off Lance’s laughter, it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Keith feels spiteful pleasure. It’s fleeting. Lance’s hands are warm where they suddenly skirt across his skin, and Keith is helpless to the shiver that runs rampage through his body. His view is obscured, and it takes a moment to realise he’s staring at Lance’s chest as he crouches, the dip of his collarbone visible over the top of that stupid, ugly shirt he insists on wearing. 

“As tempting as it is to leave you here, Shiro would probably be disappointed in me. Especially if you fell and died or something.” 

Keith feels lightheaded and irritated. He knows he looks undignified – such are the results of tripping off the top of his lion’s paw like an _idiot_ – and it embarrasses him. He doesn’t know where Hunk has gotten to, particularly as he’d been here earlier, guiding them through connecting the maintenance cords. If Hunk was here he'd be helping Keith out already, even through his laughter. But Hunk isn't here and Keith has to settle for Lance’s ridicule.

Now that Lance’s hands are flat against his skin, one under his arm and the other on his waist, Keith reassesses his earlier statement. Lance’s hands aren’t warm, they’re _searingly_ hot. He gives little resistance as Lance levers him upright, though the blood rushes from his head so fast he’s pretty sure he wavers, and it’s both a surprise and an annoyance to feel Lance situate himself under Keith’s arm, suspending him in mid-air as he tugs at the piece of wire holding Keith’s right leg up. They’re not even high up; Lance needn’t prop him upright when he can just untangle his foot and let him drop. Lance is weird like that. His words don’t match his actions.

Relatively speaking it doesn’t take very long for Lance to untangle him and with minimal bitching too, for once. Only once or twice does Lance mutter under his breath, ‘How did you even …’ and ‘Jesus Christ’ being the two most favourable phrases. 

“Stop gripping me so tightly,” Keith grunts and then does his best impression of a fish as he tries to wiggle out of Lance’s hold. “Just get the wire away and let me go.” 

“Stop moving! You’re going to make it worse and then I’m _definitely_ ditching your ass.” Lance bats Keith’s hand away and gives one final tug. Keith’s foot slips out suddenly and the resulting jolt causes Lance to stumble in his attempt not to drop Keith. 

They crash to the floor in a symphony of cursing, spluttering, Lance’s cackles and misplaced elbows. Keith can’t even bring himself not to join in. Hunk finds them like that ten minutes later, sprawled in a mess, red faced and laughing. Nothing is ever easy with them, but maybe it doesn’t have to be.

✮

Keith knows how much Lance remembers, or rather, how much he’s told the others he remembers. For whatever reason, Lance doesn’t talk to him much. Keith knows it’s stupid to feel this hurt, to feel like someone has reached inside and methodically shoved pins into his heart, but he does anyway. Shiro had taken him aside, his hand gentle on Keith’s shoulder and nowhere near as warm as Lance’s.

“He remembers everything up until landing here. He remembers being assigned our lions, and patches of trying to form Voltron. He remembers Rover, but he doesn’t remember being … he doesn’t remember being in the pod before, but he knows he was; says it felt familiar.” Shiro hesitates and then, “He doesn’t … He doesn’t remember …” _You_ , Keith can hear Shiro end silently. _He doesn’t remember_ you, _Keith_. Doesn’t remember what they’d been through, what they’d argued over, what they’d laughed over. The hurt had come back and Keith had shrugged Shiro off, heading for the observation deck. 

This morning he slumps at the table, tiredly digging into a bowl of green goop. Hunk has a way of making it taste less disgusting than it looks, but Keith doubts he’ll ever get used to it. Pidge’s laughter mingles with Shiro’s and Keith looks up with mild interest, pale eyes falling across the couch in the back of the room. Lance is sprawled across it, typically, with Hunk on the floor in front of him and Pidge slightly off the to side. Shiro is saying something, but Keith is too far away and too tired to try and hear it. 

Beside him, Allura silently hands him a pouch of water, and Keith takes it, belatedly remembering to smile. Allura doesn’t seem phased, her delicate features resting on his face, on the bags under his eyes, a testimony to his lack of sleep. Keith abruptly turns his attention back to his breakfast and hopes Allura understands the meaning behind it, that he doesn’t wish to talk. Thankfully Lance’s laughter captures their attention again and Allura’s hands fall back into her lap as she regards their companions with fondness. 

“No way,” Lance is laughing, sitting upright now, his eyes wide and joyful. “I did _not_! I wouldn’t … would I? Was she hot, at least? Worth being cuffed to a tree for?” 

“You certainly thought so,” Pidge snorts. “We left you there, too. For a solid half-hour. It was revenge for getting us into the mess in the first place.” 

Lance grins. “A hot alien woman cuffed me to a tree and stole my mechanical lion.” He leans back in his seat, a satisfied smile crossing his face. “Now _that_ is an achievement.” 

“She stole your dignity too,” Hunk says absently, and Shiro, in his startled laughter misses the couch when he attempts to sit down and hits the floor with a thud instead, amusement wracking his frame. The mood is so cheerful and light hearted that Keith doesn't think. He forgets himself. 

“It's been awhile since someone stole your dignity, Lance. Wanna head off to the training deck and fix that?”

The reply should be a biting remark from Lance, borderlining on teasing, with a hint of affection. It’s what Keith is used to. The reality? 

“No thanks. I’m busy.”

Keith, so used to the secret grins or companionable bickering, had forgotten that Lance had once treated him like a stranger, like some form of threat, like a _rival_. Now Lance’s look is contemptuous, albeit puzzled, and Keith loathes it. Helpless to do anything other than watch blankly as Lance starts at round of banter with Hunk, Keith swallows roughly. He pretends Lance’s words have no effect on him, but with the way Allura reaches for him as he rises and shoves through the doorway, he's not so sure it’s worked.

✮

Some nights Keith is out like a brick the moment his head hits the pillow. Other nights he’s hit with the overwhelming realisation that they’re a group of kids who have to save the _universe_ and run the risk of dying every single day; that they’re a group of kids in the midst of an inter-galactic war far bigger than they are; that they’re a group of kids who have seen anger and blood and death and violence and still, _still_ , they have to carry on. Other nights are not so easy. Tonight is one such night.

Keith’s feet drag as he wanders the corridors, fingers tracing the wall of the castle. The ceiling is high above him and despite how far back Keith cranes his neck he still cannot manage to find the roof amidst the swirl of darkness. It’s a feeling he get when he looks out into space, sometimes; the thought that no matter how hard he looks through endless black he can never find an end. It troubles him. 

The observation deck is cool, as is much of the castle, and Keith tugs his jacket tighter around his arms. He rests the palm of his hand against the cold glass, nose pressing into it a moment later. Alone like this it’s hard not to let his mind overwhelm him.

“Pretty, right?” 

Keith hears Lance before he sees him, turning warily to meet his teammate. Lance isn't looking at him but rather the great beyond outside the windows. His hands are loose by his side, much like the distractingly blue bed robes he's draped in. 

Keith says nothing. He turns his head back to the window and after a moment's hesitation, rests his forehead against it once more. His breath comes easily but fogs up the glass, effectively skewering his vision. 

“Hey, watch this.” Lance’s words are accompanied with a gentle shove. Keith moves back, confused but with a retort already on his tongue. Of course, Lance surprises him again when he purses his lips and presses his finger onto the foggy glass. Within a matter of seconds a crude picture of a lion head stares up at them. 

“It’s from the Lion King,” Lance supplies. “You know, _‘Siiimbaaa’_ , and all that?”

“I’m not an idiot, Lance. I know what the Lion King is.” He just never bothered to watch it more than once. Still, it drags up a sense of comfort and familiarity in him. Keith leans forward and huffs another breath, and then he hesitantly raises his own hand. Lance stands close, his warmth permeating Keith’s jacket and giving him all the confidence he needs. 

“It’s the bird,” Keith explains as he adds a long beak to his picture. “You know, the one that sings about coconuts?” 

Lance snorts in the face of Keith’s mocking, and swipes his finger under the bird to draw a rough circle. He adds a pair of ridiculous eyebrows to Keith’s drawing and so, in retaliation, Keith gifts Simba with a monocle. It doesn't take long for their images to dissolve into petty one-upmanship as they compete to create the most ridiculous portrait of each other whilst sabotaging the other’s attempts. It makes Keith grin and drags his thoughts away from something darker. He can't help but think, as he watches Lance trace a gaudy hairstyle onto his smudgy depiction of Keith, that maybe it had been Lance’s plan all along. His heart races and he glances away, laughter encasing him as Lance wraps an arm around his waist to tug him away from the window. 

The next time Keith looks out towards space that evening he can see the fading image of Lance’s misshapen lion obscuring the darkness. He smiles.

✮

Not surprisingly they’re having a tough time forming Voltron again. Though on some base level Lance still trusts them and is capable of helping form Voltron, they can never hold it for long. Lance always falls out of sync as he attempts to relearn his lion. Allura believes that it won’t take long for Lance to be back up to speed, but they don’t exactly have time to spare. None of them say as much, but one quick glance at everyone and Keith knows they’re thinking it.

“That was good,” Shiro praises after they predictably fall apart again. In an attempt at what Hunk has labelled ‘Emergency Bonding’, the five of them have been attempting to perform rudimentary tasks to try and help keep Lance in sync with them. Keith thinks the name is good, though he privately wonders whether or not ‘Emergency We-Really-Need-This-To-Work-Out-Or-We’re-Dead Bonding’ would be more apt. Whatever the case, despite Shiro’s praise and the way their time intact is increasing, Lance is growing more and more frustrated. 

“How is this so hard?” Lance grouches through the communication link, and Keith instinctively attempts to reassure him. He opens his mouth, means to say something to get Lance to laugh, but his voice catches in his throat. Lance hates him, now, _again_ , Keith has to remind himself. Lance doesn’t want to hear what you have to say. Lance needs a friend, not a rival. Keith shuts his mouth again, fingers tightening around the gear. Red’s _worrysorrowaffection_ drift through the bond and Keith reaches a shaky hand to pat the console. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he murmurs to Red, patting her carefully. 

“Oh, well I’m glad _you’re_ having a fine time, Keith. Glad that you can do this just _perfectly._ ” 

The venom in Lance’s voice startles Keith and he momentarily loses his concentration. Their lions are separated again, but they’re running basic drills, ducking over and under large rock formations, so it will do no good to careen into one. Keith catches himself last minute and realises Lance must have heard him and taken it the wrong way.

“Lance,” Shiro speaks up. 

“No. I’m trying, ok? I’m _trying_ , but I don’t remember _any_ of this and I have no idea what I’m doing! I’m meant to trust all of you, and I know I do, but I don’t know _why._ ” 

He’s scared, Keith realises, and can’t stop himself from saying it aloud. 

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance hisses, “for that remarkable show of deduction. Yes, I’m _scared_.” 

Lance’s lion lands fluidly below them, but Keith doubts Lance realises how natural it had seemed. Hunk drops down next, Pidge and Shiro soon following. Keith swoops in behind them and as he finally exits his lion, he watches Hunk tug Lance into his arms, hugging him in a way Keith knows from experience provides an encompassing warmth and feeling of safety. 

He folds his arms over his own body, hugging his sides and feels awkward all of a sudden. The other paladins are gathered around Lance, probably attempting to comfort him, but Keith doesn’t make any move towards them. He leans back against Red’s great side and sits on the uncomfortable rocky ground, knees drawn up to his chest. Once he would’ve been anything other than useless. Once he would have been there, instead of Hunk. Once he would have been able to calm Lance down. Once, once, _once_. But not any longer. That privilege doesn’t belong to him anymore. 

Keith’s head presses into Red’s side as he tilts it back. He swallows and pretends everything is fine. (It doesn't work. He can’t even fool himself).

✮

Lance wears his heart on his sleeve. For all his bragging and boasting he's realistic, down-to-earth and emotional. After spending so many weeks in his company Keith can tell his moods based on the expression on his face. The slightest downturn at the corner of his mouth and he's tired. When his brows furrow just slightly and his lips tilt upwards he's confused but trying not to show it. When he sucks in a deep breath and his eyes shut for a moment or two, he's sad. Lance’s emotional outbursts are something everyone recognises and accepts as Lance and Keith has endured Lance’s moods for months. Never has he appeared like anything other than ‘Lance’.

However, now, watching the tremor of Lance’s bottom lip and the clumpy, wet lashes pasting his cheeks, a new word comes to mind. Vulnerable. Lance’s brown cheeks, smattered with uneven freckles, are shiny in the light of his room. Keith sits ramrod still on Lance’s bed, watching as the blue paladin crumbles away. Keith's sure it has something to do with his family and the homesickness which accompanies it, but he doesn't know for sure, and he doesn't know how to ask. This sort of display, this vulnerability towards each other, it's not them. It's new and daunting and strangely exhilarating. 

“Nightmare,” Lance finally rasps in the quiet of the room. Keith knows he hates silence and fills it with noise whenever he can. He sings in the shower – Keith can hear him through the vents – and he chatters purely for the sake of chattering, but strangely, it's anything but annoying. In fact, after he had caught himself humming one of Lance’s favourite tunes, Keith has started to realise he's beginning to fill his own silences with noise. Or maybe he's just trying to fill his time with Lance. 

“Just a nightmare. I was minding my business all on my own, y’know? And then I saw you wander past and I reached for you but you weren't there. All that was there was an empty corridor!” Lance’s voice is taking on a different tone, a tone Keith is intimately familiar with. He's constructing a story, now, masking what he's feeling. “Then I saw it! Floating amongst the stars … your _mullet_.” 

Keith debates tossing his hands up and storming out. Fortunately he knows the hidden meaning behind Lance's words ... or at least he thinks he does.

“You were dreaming about getting lost. In space. Alone?” Keith hedges, intimately aware he sounds confused, like he's missing the critical pieces to the puzzle which is Lance.

“... What the hell, Keith? That's weird. That's really weird. Go back to being terrible at human interaction!”

Keith can't help but smile at the scandalised tone Lance procures. He tucks his legs beneath him and tries to get comfortable for the first time since bursting into the room upon hearing Lance’s strangled shout. What's weird, he thinks, is that Lance hadn't even seemed surprised to wake to Keith shaking his shoulder. What's weird is that he's still here, close enough to feel the occasional shudder run amok through Lance's body, yet not quite close enough to touch. 

“You can't get lost alone in space,” Keith reasons. “Even if you get separated from us and end up light years away –”

“No, by all means, Keith, comfort me some more,” Lance interrupts dryly. Keith pays him no heed.

“– _even_ ,” he presses, “even if you had no idea where you were, you'd still have Blue. Otherwise you'd be dead. We don't have an unlimited oxygen supply in our helmets so –”

“ _OK!”_ Lance laughs and Keith is thankful to hear he sounds more like himself again. “You look like you're going to vomit if we keep talking about feelings. Want to talk about Coran’s moustache curling technique?” 

“Oh thank God,” Keith exhales and joins Lance in flopping back against the bed covers. They're silent for a moment, Lance’s now-steady breathing mingling with his own. 

“We'd come for you, you know?” Keith says unexpectedly. He doesn't look at Lance; he's too embarrassed by the raw honesty of his voice. It is suddenly imperative Lance knows this. “We'd always come for you.”

“I know,” Lance murmurs, and their hands find each other in the dark.

✮

What Keith hates the most about Lance’s missing memory is selfish. It's not that he doesn't feel for Lance and the way he misunderstands all their inside jokes; not that he doesn't hate how Lance seems less confident in himself again, hiding behind layers of insecurity; not that he doesn't hate how much he misses Lance, and the ache it brings to his heart; it’s that it’s a purely selfish thing. The one thing Keith loathes most about this situation is the communication. He hates not knowing what Lance is going to say next and what his actions will be.

The last Galra slips around the corner and Keith stumbles upright. He knows their mission relies on stealth, but the hatred he feels for the alien race overwhelms him for a moment. It was one of them who had shoved Lance against the wall so harshly the sharp tang of blood from his cracked head was instantaneous. So used to Lance physically holding him back from his reckless decisions, Keith is already half-way down the corridor before he realises Lance isn't stopping him. He skids awkwardly due to his sudden stop and spins on his heel. Lance is disappearing around the end of the corridor furthest from Keith. Frustration clouds his body. 

Chasing after his stupid teammate, Keith catches Lance just before he enters a concealed doorway. 

“Hey,” Lance hisses, and rallies up even more when Keith hushes him. “What are you doing? Trying to steal my moment?”

Sometimes Keith feels like the Lance he knew is dead and gone. The ache in his heart grows and he becomes acutely aware of the clammy state of his hands. Lance tosses him off and Keith is helpless to stop it.

“What moment?” Keith retorts angrily, his hurt coming out the only way he knows how. “The only moment you're about to have is your moment of _death_.”

Lance, predictably, puffs up. “Oh yeah? Is that a threat, Kogane?”

No! Keith wants to shout. It's not a threat! It's me trying to keep your stupid ass safe because you've never known how to! He swallows. Says nothing. Some things are not worth explaining. Instead he gestures to the door silently, a simple hand gesture for ‘how many?’. Lance stares at him.

“How many?” Keith is forced to whisper after a moment. Lance looks at him suspiciously before, thankfully, holding up three fingers. That's good, Keith thinks. The odds are in their favour, then. Lance can still shoot despite his memory loss and Keith is a force to be reckoned with, he knows. 

“Ready?” He asks, and doesn't bother with another of their signs. He can see Lance gear up an argument and then deflate, clearly seeing no point in drawing out their situation. Keith feels affection flood him and his eyes threaten to prickle with heat when he realises all the mannerisms are still the same. Sometimes he may feel like Lance is lost to him, but times like these … For all intents and purposes, Lance is the same person, just blissfully unaware of the turmoil he's putting Keith through. Then again, it's always been that way, somehow.

Lance shoulders the door openly roughly and Keith throws up a shield, dive-rolling forward. He can hear the familiar whine of Lance’s gun and slips into the motions. Left, right, stab, slice, duck, dodge, right, jab – _Fuck!_

Blood soaks through the crack in his armour. Keith stares upwards, confusion and panic crossing his face. Do the Galra have guns now? He'd sworn he'd only seen these particular three with knives upon ducking into the room. Granted that had been a quick assessment. 

The look of horror, frustration and defence on Lance’s face, however, explains it all. Lance shot him. Lance shot him! Most likely on accident, but … but that hasn't happened since their first few times in the field. They're ridiculously in sync so how – Keith stumbles. Oh. _Right_. Lance doesn't remember their training together, likely doesn't remember the patterns the two of them follow and probably has no idea how to read Keith's body language. 

“Sorry,” Lance shouts and he does sound so. Keith can do nothing but accept it with a nod. The wound is only small cut embedded in a large bruise, but long after the mark fades Keith still feels its ache.

✮

“Clearly you don't have a brain if you think Star Trek is better than Star Wars,” Lance scoffs. Keith stretches his arms over his head and allows them to dangle off the bed. His feet rest against the wall. Lance gives him a disgusted look from where he sits and it's all the more hilarious from Keith’s current angle.

“Star Wars is like a knock off, superpower-centric version of Star Trek. Star Trek has explorations and doesn't need superpowers to be interesting. Plus, there's so much hope for our future with tech. Also, that opening? Space: the final frontier … That's awe inspiring.”

“I think that's the most you've ever said to me at once,” Lance murmurs, and he sounds awe inspired himself, “but all I can focus on is the fact you called the Force a superpower.”

Keith snorts. “I can practically hear the capitalisation in that sentence.”

“I'm surprised you can hear anything with that mullet of yours,” Lance quips and Keith is so used to it by now that he doesn't even react past a swell of affection. 

“You know, you never stop talking about my mullet, Lance. Careful; I might actually start to think you like it.”

Lance grins slyly, but Keith can see the red swell over the tips of his ears and across the delicate bridge of his nose. He's not fooled for a moment.

“You do!” Keith startles, propping himself up on his elbows. “You actually like my mullet!”

“Hah! So you admit you have one!”

The deflection is weak and they both know it. Keith’s flat stare is one of show more than anything, but it causes Lance to crack, as it always does. 

“Fine,” he grumbles and sprawls out as he joins Keith, laying on his side with his obscenely long legs curled between them. “But don't get cocky! It’s the only thing I like about you and the only thing you have going for you,” Lance continues. 

Keith isn't so sure where the words come from, brutal in their honesty. “Yeah, well, I like your everything.” He tries to sound sneering, but he’s not quite sure his sincerity has been hidden. Keith’s heart trips into overdrive and he feels distantly like he's reached another level of existence. Intellectually he's know he's been head over heels for Lance for months now, but actually admitting it aloud is a different reality. 

“Keith, that sounds an awful lot like a love confession,” Lance laughs, and this is Keith's cue to laugh too, to say something biting or scoff. Keith means to beg innocence but he eventually decides to say nothing, simply staring at the ceiling. It's true, after all, so why lie? Lance inhales sharply beside him and wriggles closer to Keith. 

“Keith … was, did you just confess to me?”

“It wasn't– I didn't mean–” Keith says after a moment, unable to stop himself from sounding defensive. It may be true but he didn't mean to say it. Lance’s fingers sliding across his jaw stop him and Keith’s heart catches in his throat. 

“Yes, yes you did. I know you, Keith.” Lance rolls himself atop Keith, bracketing him in. His smile is radiant and just a little smug, but mostly he looks happy. Keith makes him happy. “I like _your_ everything,” Lance murmurs, and it sounds like ‘I love you too’. 

When Lance finally, _finally_ kisses him, it feels like something they've been destined for. It's dizzying, or something equally romantic, but Keith doesn't have time for poetics. He loses himself in Lance’s touch, in his blue eyes and endless warmth and long, toned limbs, and lays himself bare. After all, Lance knows him.

✮

“Hey, can we talk?”

Keith’s pen stalls against the thick paper he’s idly drawing on. The ink is different to anything on Earth. It’s thicker, gluggy and doesn’t seep into the paper. He follows Lance’s gaze to his image, noting how it’s just a series of whorls and stars. Space, he thinks, just like it always is. 

“Hello? Keith?” 

“Yeah. What do you want to … talk about?” 

Keith caps his pen but doesn’t relinquish it, finding it easier when he has something to fiddle with, otherwise his hands will flutter about, not quite sure where to rest. Lance looks awkward for a moment before resignation settles over him. Then he settles on the ground in front of Keith, pursing his lips tentatively. 

“Listen,” Keith starts, tiredly, like he hasn’t slept in weeks, and honestly, most days it feels like that. It’s hard to vent when the person you want to vent to doesn’t care for you anymore. “If Shiro put you up to this–” 

“Coran, actually,” Lance interrupts unhelpfully. 

“Right,” Keith continues, rolling his eyes. “Just because _Coran_ put you up to this–”

“Your favourite colour is dark blue.” 

Keith’s breath cuts out, his mind freezing. The pen in his hand stops moving and the world around them is so still and quiet Keith swears it has stopped. Lance regards him with cautious eyes. 

“You like to say it’s red, but after you saw – the first time you saw blood, real, red, pools of blood, you started to hate it. I … you like Lady Gaga too, and Nickelback. You have cold feet and don’t like tomatoes. I … I don’t remember you. I do, I mean, I remember things about you, and I know I trust you, but I don’t …”

Keith feels as though he’s been punched in the gut, air rapidly filling his body again. “No,” he blurts on an exhale, sounding choked and it would be embarrassing but Keith has a sneaking suspicion Lance is just as embarrassed to know so much, to know so many personal things about someone he feels he doesn’t know at all. 

“No,” Keith tries again. “I mean, I don’t have cold feet, yours are just unnaturally warm.” The pen is long forgotten now, his fingers tightening against the wad of paper. Its thickness yields a little under his desperate grip, and the tiniest of crinkles ripple across it. 

Lance’s face falls and, for the briefest of moments, Keith is privy to an onslaught of emotions: regret, despair, confusion, irritation, acceptance, desperation and finally, _hope_. 

“I know you like trying to get lost in the castle,” he continues. “I don’t remember how I know, but I do.”

Keith swallows thickly, and tries to forget Lance’s skin under his hands, their shared laughter and their endless nights making up stupid names for constellations they’ll never remember. Lance’s wary expression becomes more concrete. He’s clearly uncomfortable and Keith feels a wave of fondness, of _love_ wash over him, like a gentle tide returning to its shore. Coran may have told him to talk to Keith, but he certainly hadn’t told him to confess something so private, something which has so obviously been bothering him.

“If the offer is still on the table, we could … we could go and spar?” 

The idea is a good one, but... “We could,” Keith agrees quietly, but they both seem a little uncomfortable with that. Keith, as he doesn’t know how he’ll react to see Lance so close to him, sweaty and determined, not since he can’t reach out and run his fingers through the mess of brown hair, or trace Lance’s bottom lip with his thumb. Lance, as he’s never been too fond of discussing deeply personal things with strangers, which at this point is all Keith is. “Or … we could … Do you want to wander the castle?” Keith asks a little lamely.

“Yeah,” Lance says after drinking Keith in for a moment. He offers his hand and Keith takes it. It’s warm. Familiar. Safe. “Let’s do that. I don't remember the castle so it should be pretty easy.”

Keith laughs, and it feels rusty. “C’mon,” he says, and he knows he sounds brighter than he has in a long time. “I'll help you remember.”

“Yeah,” Lance murmurs, blue eyes guarded but trustful and the tiniest bit fond. “I know you will.”

✮

Nothing is ever easy between the two of them but it doesn't have to be; Keith's always liked a challenge. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing a fic: wow u sure do love those italics my guy
> 
> this was just a horrible excuse to have lance forget keith


End file.
